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Literary and Cultural Writeups .
ALBERT CAMUS AND THE ISHA UPANISHAD
Gandhi Ji famously declared the Isha Upanishad to be the summit of human wisdom. He said if all the scriptures in the world were lost, as long as the first verse of the Isha Upanishad remained, then Hinduism would last forever. In the Book “ Notebooks 1935-1942”, translated by Philip Thody (Ivan R. Dee, 1963), on page 162, Albert Camus condenses the Upanishadic doctrine of Maya into a secular ethic:
"It is legitimate to glory in the diversity
and quantity of experience, only if one is completely disinterested in the
object of one's desires. There is also the leap into material things; and men
who glory in the senses do so only because they are slaves to them. Here, too,
they embrace the vulture that is eating them away."
The source is the Isha Upanishad Mantra,” Ishavasyam
idam sarvam, tena tyaktena bhunjitha.” "All this world is enveloped by the
Lord; enjoy through renunciation," later named as Maya in the Shvetashvatara
Upanishad 4.10 and the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad. What is striking is that Camus
retains the structure but removes the Lord. The theistic frame, Ishavasyamis
excised and the message is secularised. Disinterestedness no longer derives from
devotion to Brahman but from lucid indifference to possession. For Vedanta,
detachment frees one for the Self; for Camus, it frees one for the world
itself. To cling to sensory experience as an absolute is thus to remain a
slave, embracing the vulture that devours us, mistaking Maya for fulfilment.
Few
comparisons in modern comparative philosophy appear as improbable—and yet as
intellectually rewarding—as that between the thought of Albert Camus and the
philosophical vision of the Upanishads. Separated by more than two millennia,
formed within entirely different civilisations, and speaking in radically
different philosophical idioms, they nevertheless converge upon some of the
most enduring questions of human existence: What is the nature of reality? How
should one confront death? Can life possess dignity in the face of suffering?
What constitutes authentic knowledge? Above all, how should one live without
illusion?
Camus’s return to the Upanishads in 1959 is especially significant because it reveals the persistence, rather than the passing novelty, of his engagement with Indian thought. He had encountered the Upanishads decades earlier, reflected upon them critically in his notebooks, and continued to revisit their philosophical vision throughout his intellectual life. In Albert Camus, Notebooks 1951–1959, translated by Ryan Bloom, he records with striking simplicity: “Rereading the Upanishads. A strange peace.” The sentence is important precisely because it contains neither polemic nor philosophical judgement. The younger Camus had often examined Indian wisdom through the categories of negation, absurdity and escape. The mature Camus records an experience of inward stillness instead. His repeated return to the Upanishads deserves emphasis. They were not a casual Oriental reference, but part of a sustained philosophical engagement spanning decades and reaching into the final year of his life, touching on questions of consciousness, mortality, detachment, and peace.
( Avtar Mota )
Raksha Bandhan Greetings
"Karunakar Draupadi pukari
Patt mein lipat gaye Banwari
Nirakh rahe nar naari
Jai Madhav Madan Murari"
(Draupadi called out to the Lord with compassionate hands,
And Banwari wrapped himself into the fabric of her Sari,
All the men and women stood watching in wonder,
Victory to Madhava, Madana and Murari.)
The Indian festival of the protective bond celebrated on the full moon of Shravana in August, where a sister ties a consecrated thread, Rakhi, on her brother's wrist as a Kavachaor protective armour, invoking lifelong mutual duty. Its religious background lies in the Hindu concept of *Rnanubandha, a sacred bond created through mantra-charged thread, with Puranic roots in Sachi tying such a thread on Indra for victory over the Asuras, and its history is traced in Sanskrit literature and royal traditions as a domestic rite that renews dharma within the family.
Its most revered theological archetype, central to Pahari painting, is the **episode of Sri Krishna and Draupadi: when Sri Krishna wounds his finger on the Sudarshana Chakra, Draupadi tears the border of her Sari to bandage it, and Sri Krishna vows "Akshayam Bhavatu" that her honour shall be endless , a vow fulfilled during her vastraharan in the Kaurava court when he renders her garment infinite; this bond by choice, not blood, is therefore considered the first Rakhi and the purest expression of sacred protection.
RAKSHA BANDHAN GREETINGS
( Avtar Mota )
PS
*Rnanubandha means a bond formed by past debts.
In Sanskrit, rna means debt and anubandha means connection or tie that follows. It refers to the belief that relationships in this life arise because of Karmic debts or obligations left unsettled in previous births, which draw souls together again to repay, resolve or fulfil them.
**Draupadi tying cloth to Sri Krishna is not in the critical Mahabharata. The canonical text has only her Vastraharan and Sri Krishna's protection. The finger-cut and Sari-tearing episode comes from later folk Kathas and Puranic retellings, now celebrated as the first Rakhi by tradition.
Albert Camus and Uday Shankar
In Notebooks 1935 to 1942, translated by Philip Thody, at page 114, entry dated December 1938, Albert Camus makes a remarkable observation on what the French press then called Hindu dances. The note reads: “ Slowness the basis of Hindu dances. The spreading out of the limbs. The detailed efflorescences in the group movements. Like the accumulation of details in architecture. A proliferation of gestures. Nothing is hurried, everything takes its course. It is neither an action nor a gesture, but a participation.”
Camus had not travelled to India. He saw this in Paris. The description corresponds precisely to Uday Shankar, who was resident in Paris from 1931 to 1938 and performed his Hindu Ballet at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, the Théâtre Mogador and the Musée Guimet. Shankar's art recreated temple sculpture in living form, the tribhanga, the slow unfolding of mudra, the frieze-like grouping that Camus likens to architecture.
The observation is acute because it grasps the theology of Indian classical dance. The body does not press toward climax, it abides. Gesture does not tell a story, it participates in a cosmic measure. This idea of theatre as ceremony rather than action, as presence rather than plot, became central to Camus's mature theory of drama.
The Paris avant-garde : Jean Cocteau, Paul Valéry, André Gide, Michel Chekhov, Kurt Jooss, and Rudolf Laban were all in Paris at the time and documented as meeting Shankar after his Champs-Élysées performances ( popular dance themes in Paris were : Radha Krishna and A Hindu Wedding) . He had founded Europe's first Indian dance company on his return to Paris in 1931 with Swiss sculptor Alice Boner and musicians Vishnu Dass Shirali and Timir Baran. With French pianist Simkie [Simone Barbier] as his dance partner, and under American impresarios Sol Hurok and Aaron Richmond, his troupe was billed as “Uday Shankar and his Hindu Ballet” on a seven-year tour of Europe and America.
What Camus notes in December 1938 in Notebook II (p.114) about Hindu dances is none other than Uday Shankar. His description of “spreading out of the limbs... accumulation of details in architecture” is exactly Shankar's temple-frieze style.
A magazine dedicated to performing arts writes this:
"It was a very important occasion when his French pianist, Simone Barbier (whom he called Simkie), started to learn dancing from him and became his partner, for she had enormous talent and mastered his style to perfection...The combination of tandava and lasya is as crucial in Indian art as it is in Indian religion and philosophy: the great god Shiva is helpless, lying in a slumber, and needs his shakti-his feminine aspect before he can be creative. Uday Shankar understood very clearly this aspect of Indian religion and aesthetics, and it enabled him to give magic to his ballets...Shankar radiated masculine power onstage, and Simkie's charming femininity acted as a perfect foil for his masculinity. Together they created magic." (Honouring Uday Shankar)
( Avtar Mota)
The Vaakh in Kashmiri
Kaeti bozi daai myon meti
diyi taar
Aamein taakein poen zan
shramaan
Zuv chum bramaan ghar gassa-ha “…Lal Ded
Translation
(With a rope of
loosely spun thread
I drag my fragile boat across the sea.
O that the Divine would hear my plea
And carry me safely to the farther shore.
Like water held
in an unbaked clay cup,
My life seeps away, drop by drop.
O that I might reach my true home,
Before I am lost entirely.
Commentary on the Vaakh
Lal Ded’s Vaakh presents human life as a perilous crossing of the Bhavsāgara, the ocean of worldly existence. The soul desires to return to its primordial home, yet asks in anguish: with such inadequate means, how shall I reach the farther shore, O Lord? The boat is the embodied self, vulnerable and unstable, while the loosely spun thread represents the frailty of individual effort. The seeker pulls, strives and longs to advance, yet knows that the means at her disposal are painfully inadequate. The Vaakh therefore becomes a cry of metaphysical helplessness: the soul remembers, however dimly, its origin in the Divine and yearns to return to that true home, but asks how such a fragile being can reach the farther shore without grace.
This spiritual tension finds a close echo in the Bhagavad Gita, where Krishna declares, “I become the swift deliverer from the ocean of birth and death” for those whose consciousness is fixed upon Him. The Yogavāsiṣṭha similarly teaches, “Cittam eva hi saṃsāraḥ”, the mind itself is Saṃsāra, suggesting that the ocean to be crossed is also the inward world of desire, attachment and misidentification. In Kashmir Shaivism, liberation is ultimately Pratyabhijñā, recognition of one’s identity with universal consciousness.
A
less frequently quoted Śiva Sūtra,
“Dānam ātmajñānam”, teaches that the highest giving is knowledge of the
Self. Lalla’s farther shore is therefore not merely another realm. It is the
recovery of the soul’s own deepest nature.
The image of water leaking from an unbaked clay cup intensifies the urgency. Life is passing irreversibly. The body cannot hold it forever. Lalla’s prayer is thus both intimate and universal: may the soul reach its eternal source before the fragile vessel breaks and the opportunity for recognition is lost.
My Commentary on the Painting
The painting is a remarkably sensitive visual interpretation of Lalleshwari’s celebrated Vaakh, “Aami panna sodras naavi chhas lamaan”. At the upper centre, the tiny boat appears almost helpless within an immeasurably larger pictorial space. The thin red thread attached to it gives material form to Lalla’s “loosely spun thread”, the precarious means by which the embodied soul attempts to cross the Bhavsāgara, the ocean of worldly existence. Its fragility is essential. The soul desires to return to its primordial home, yet asks in anguish: with such inadequate means, how shall I reach the farther shore, O Lord?
The
dominant blues transform the surface into both turbulent water and metaphysical
infinity. Pale blue suggests movement and uncertainty, while the deeper
ultramarine passages evoke unfathomable consciousness. Against them, red and
orange appear as concentrated flashes of Śakti, the energy of striving,
suffering and spiritual transformation. The dark edges surrounding the torn
openings intensify the sense of danger and transition between bondage and
liberation.
The
rough, layered texture is equally significant. Nothing is smooth or secure. The
surface appears worn, ruptured and vulnerable, visually corresponding to
Lalla’s image of the unbaked clay vessel from which the water of life steadily
escapes. The ochre manuscript frame, filled with script, surrounds this
existential drama with the presence of inherited wisdom. Yet the centre breaks
through textual order into direct experience.
( Avtar Mota )
“Reconcile the Hindu Sage and the Western Hero”: Who Was the
Hero in Camus’s May 1937 Notebook?
In May 1937, Albert Camus entered into his notebook one of
the most intriguing formulations of his early intellectual life:
The notebooks themselves confirm that La Mort heureuse was occupying Camus’s imagination during these years. They contain plans and fragments explicitly identified with the novel. Later, in September and December 1937, Camus continued recording material for La Mort heureuse. One December entry is specifically marked as a “Fragment for La Mort Heureuse”. This makes Patrice Mersault the strongest candidate if the phrase “Western hero” is understood as referring to a fictional protagonist then under construction. That conclusion, however, must be expressed carefully. Camus never wrote beside the phrase: “By the Western hero I mean Mersault.” There is therefore no documentary warrant for presenting the identification as an established fact. What can be said securely is that Mersault was the principal fictional hero Camus was developing at precisely this time.
Patrice Mersault is much more consciously preoccupied with happiness.
The phrase should also be read from the other direction. Camus did not merely write “Western hero”. He deliberately placed this figure beside the “sage hindou”, the Hindu sage. By the mid-1930s, Camus was already showing interest in Indian ideas. His notebooks contain references to India, Indian wisdom and later the Vedas, Upanishadic thought and other Indian materials. The Hindu sage therefore cannot simply be dismissed as a decorative Oriental metaphor. For Camus, the figure seems to suggest a consciousness capable of detachment from ordinary ambition and illusion.The sage possesses himself. The hero acts upon the world. Camus wanted a human being capable of both. The difficulty is immediately recognisable as Camusian. Pure withdrawal would abandon the world. Pure heroic action might become conquest without wisdom. The reconciliation would require someone capable of entering life completely while remaining inwardly free from the illusion that worldly achievement can provide ultimate meaning.This becomes one of the permanent problems of Camus’s work.The May 1937 formula is therefore potentially much more important than a passing notebook remark.
Was the “Western hero” Meursault of The Stranger?
Sisyphus is philosophically an even more compelling possibility, but chronologically he is not the immediate answer. The Myth of Sisyphus was published in 1942. It is an essay, not a novel, and Sisyphus is a figure inherited from Greek mythology rather than a fictional character invented by Camus. Yet Sisyphus eventually becomes perhaps the purest expression of the “Western hero” as Camus would understand him. He acts. He struggles. He does not withdraw. Most importantly, he acts without illusion. He knows that the stone will fall again. His awareness does not stop his action. This is precisely where the hypothetical reconciliation with the Hindu sage becomes philosophically fascinating. The sage possesses knowledge without attachment. Sisyphus possesses action without hope of ultimate victory. Both have surrendered illusion. Yet Sisyphus continues to labour.
Camus’s mature philosophy of the absurd consequently creates a figure who combines something resembling contemplative detachment with relentless activity. The 1937 notebook passage can therefore be regarded as anticipating the philosophical structure of The Myth of Sisyphus. But anticipation is different from identification. There is no basis for saying that Camus wrote “Western hero” in May 1937 while specifically thinking of the finished Sisyphus of the 1942 essay.The more defensible claim is that the philosophical intuition contained in the 1937 entry later reaches one of its clearest forms in Sisyphus.
The Plague can be excluded much more confidently as the immediate source of the notebook phrase. The novel was published in 1947. Its substantial development belongs to the early 1940s. Camus was gathering plague material by 1941 and in March 1942 told André Malraux that he was working on a novel about the plague. This places the serious conception of the novel several years after May 1937. Doctor Bernard Rieux therefore cannot reasonably be identified as the particular Western hero Camus had in mind when he made the earlier notebook entry. Yet, as with Sisyphus, Rieux later embodies the principle remarkably well. Rieux knows that plague cannot be defeated permanently.He does not act because he expects final victory. He acts because suffering exists before him. This distinction is fundamental. Rieux possesses lucidity without resignation. He recognises limits without using those limits as an excuse for inactivity. He refuses metaphysical consolation while remaining absolutely committed to human solidarity. Thus the hero who acts and the sage who knows the limits of action finally seem to inhabit the same person. If Sisyphus represents the existential development of the 1937 formula, Rieux represents its ethical development.
The deeper question is not simply “Who was the hero?” but “What did Camus mean by a hero?” His early notebooks repeatedly reveal dissatisfaction with passive existence. He was concerned with strength, experience, self-possession, happiness, death and lucidity. Patrice Mersault embodies many of these concerns. He wants not merely to exist but to possess his existence consciously. Yet Camus was already suspicious of conquest in any naive sense. Death destroys every worldly victory. Happiness cannot become immortality. Achievement cannot solve the metaphysical problem of human existence. Hence the need for the sage. The sage modifies the hero. The hero prevents the sage from becoming pure withdrawal.The reconciliation produces something distinctly Camusian: action without metaphysical illusion. This theme eventually becomes fundamental to Camus’s philosophy. One acts while knowing that no final victory is possible. One loves while knowing that death exists. One struggles while recognising limits. One refuses resignation without inventing eternal consolation. That structure can already be sensed in the mysterious notebook sentence of May 1937.
In May 1937, when Camus recorded the phrase “Conciliation du sage hindou et du héros occidental”, the principal fictional hero he was developing was Patrice Mersault of La Mort heureuse. Since the notebooks of this period contain plans and material for that novel, Mersault is the strongest identifiable fictional candidate for the “Western hero”. The phrase, however, is formulated as a general philosophical proposition rather than as an explicit character note, and its meaning subsequently expands beyond Mersault into the figures of Meursault, Sisyphus and Rieux.
Conclusion
The chronology points decisively away from 'The Plague' and makes a direct identification with the mature Meursault of The Stranger equally problematic. The immediate literary environment of the May 1937 entry is 'La Mort heureuse' . Camus was then working on the novel whose protagonist was Patrice Mersault. The book was composed during 1936 to 1938, exactly encompassing the date of the notebook entry. The Stranger would be published in 1942 even though Camus's Notebooks suggest it's planning and conceiving much earlier .The Myth of Sisyphus would also appear in 1942. The Plague would emerge substantially during the early 1940s and be published in 1947.
Therefore, if the “Western hero” refers to a particular fictional figure Camus was then imagining, Patrice Mersault is by far the strongest candidate. But the notebook sentence is greater than Mersault alone. It announces a problem that Camus would spend much of his career resolving: how can the human being retain the hero’s commitment to action while acquiring the sage’s freedom from illusion? Patrice Mersault offers the first experiment. Meursault deepens the experience of lucidity. Sisyphus gives it philosophical shape. Rieux carries it into the moral world of suffering and solidarity.
The deceptively brief sentence entered in May 1937 may therefore be read as an early key to the entire development of the Camusian hero. The Western hero must not simply conquer. He must know the limits of conquest. The sage must not merely withdraw. He must remain capable of action.Between these two figures, Camus gradually created his own distinctive human type: lucid without resignation, active without illusion, solitary without abandoning solidarity, and capable of confronting an indifferent world without ceasing to live fully within it.
( Avtar Mota )
The Sage of Montpellier: Why Any Serious Study of Camus Must Include Siddheswarananda and Jean Grenier
Any purposeful research on Camus' thought is incomplete unless one knows about Swami Siddheswarananda and Jean Grenier.
Who they were ?
Swami Siddheswarananda, 1897 to 1957, was born Gopal Marar of the princely House of Cochin in Kerala. Initiated by Swami Brahmananda, a direct disciple of Sri Ramakrishna, he served the Ramakrishna Order at Madras, Mysore and Bangalore, where he guided the young poet who would become Kuvempu, one of Kannada literature's greatest figures. Sent to France in 1937 at the invitation of French friends of Indian thought centred on the Sorbonne, he arrived with almost no French. Fluent in French with remarkable speed, hec mastered it as a working philosophical language, lectured at the Sorbonne, Montpellier and Toulouse, and founded the Centre Vedantique Ramakrishna at Gretz-Armainvilliers . He lived, taught, wrote and died in France. He was a monk who made Vedanta speak in French. He taught at a time when Europe itself was collapsing.
Jean Grenier, 1898 to 1971, was a French philosopher, professor and essayist, a man of islands, solitude, melancholy and Mediterranean light. He taught philosophy at the Lycee in Algiers from 1930 to 1938. There a young Albert Camus, son of a poor family, became his pupil and then his lifelong friend. Grenier wrote a chapter called L'Inde in the Nouvelle Revue Francaise in 1930, later included in his book Les Iles, a book Camus said had touched the very core of his sensibility and given him both a terrain for reflection and a form. In February 1940 Grenier published a sustained essay, Reflexions sur la pensee indienne, in issue 317 of the Nouvelle Revue Francaise, an essay serious enough that even Rene Guenon felt obliged to attack it. He continued to move between Greece, Taoism and India for the rest of his life. For Camus, Grenier remained the master, the confidant, the measure of intellectual honesty, the man who taught him to look at the sea and at death without lying.
France itself provides the necessary context, because French interest in Vedanta was not marginal in the nineteen thirties. Romain Rolland, fresh from his work on Gandhi, had brought Sri Ramakrishna and Swami Vivekananda into French letters with two influential biographies in 1929 and 1930 that were read by the entire French intelligentsia. In 1936 the Musee Guimet and the Sorbonne honoured both figures with commemorations. By 1941, Gallimard published the substantial collective volume Message actuel de l'Inde with contributions from Rene Daumal, Jean Herbert, Jacques Masui and others, signalling that Indian thought was being taken seriously as contemporary philosophy, not as exotic decoration. Les Cahiers du Sud, based in Marseille and one of the most important literary reviews in the south of France, became a natural meeting point for writers interested in comparative spirituality and literature. It is in this constellation that Grenier and Siddheswarananda moved, met and recognised each other. Their meeting at Montpellier, where Grenier taught and the Swami was invited to lecture, was therefore not an accident of curiosity. It was the meeting of two men who both believed that philosophy must become a form of life and not merely an opinion.
The decisive document is a letter, modest in appearance, immense in implication. On 18 October 1942, Grenier sat in Sisteron in the Basses Alpes, in what was then the unoccupied zone, and wrote Letter 66 to his former student. The letter is published in Correspondance Albert Camus Jean Grenier, Gallimard, 1981, pages 81 to 82. At that moment Camus was twenty nine, living between Lyon, Le Chambon-sur-Lignon and Paris in occupied France, having just finished L'Etranger and Le Mythe de Sisyphe, two books that would make his name after the war. Europe around him was nihilism made political, occupation, collaboration, resistance, murder justified by absolute ideas. In the letter Grenier reflects on Lao Tzu and the Tao and on the Chinese idea of non action, wu wei, which he finds admirable as an attitude before a world that wants to turn everything into ideology and frantic action. Then, in the middle of that philosophical reflection, without any social preamble, without gossip, he adds a sentence that any historian of Camus and Indian thought must underline. He writes in French: Je corresponds aussi avec un Hindou, un Sage bien entendu, que j'ai connu a Montpellier, le Swami Siddheswarânanda. "I also correspond with a Hindu, a Sage of course, whom I knew at Montpellier, Swami Siddheswarananda."
The placement of that sentence is everything. Grenier does not mention the Swami among travel anecdotes or mutual friends. He mentions him while asking what attitude can answer what he calls the profound and tragic nihilism of Europe. He places Vedanta and Taoism together as living alternatives, as attitudes to existence, at the exact moment when Camus is moving from the solitary lucidity of the absurd towards the problem of solidarity, limits, revolt and community. The date matters for another reason of archival discipline. Camus destroyed much of his correspondence received before 1940. The full published exchange between master and pupil therefore begins in 1940. From that point onwards Grenier remains the one person to whom Camus can write without self censorship about his deepest uncertainties. To tell Camus in October 1942 that he corresponds with a living Hindu sage in France is not casual gossip. It is to open a door and to say that there exists, here, now, in France, in French, a living tradition concerned with consciousness, detachment, liberation, measure and freedom without consolation that stands remarkably close to their shared questions.
Swami Siddeshwarananda
Swami Siddheswarananda arrived in 1937 with little French. Within a few years he was lecturing, debating, answering questions and publishing in French. His lectures at the University of Toulouse in 1942 were published as "Quelques aspects de la philosophie vedantique", a book that still reads with clarity. His later French works include Le Yoga et Saint Jean de la Croix, pensee indienne et mystique carmelitaine, Meditation selon le Yoga Vedanta, Rambles in Religion, Metaphysique et Realisation, Dieu existe-t-il, and the periodical Vedanta conducted in French from Gretz. Contemporary notices and library records describe him precisely as well known in France as an author and lecturer because he spread the message of Vedanta in the French language. His major French works were only later translated into English by disciples such as William Buchanan and Andre van den Brink, which explains why English speaking readers often encounter him in translation and forget that the originals were French. For Camus, who lived, thought, taught and wrote in French, this fact meant that Vedanta was not a distant Sanskrit text requiring mediation through English Orientalism. It was present in his own linguistic world, in the universities where his teacher taught, in the review culture he read, spoken by a man in ochre cloth who could discuss Shankara and Saint John of the Cross in French.
At this point Camus' Carnets, his notebooks, become crucial evidence and they must be handled with care. Camus kept notebooks from 1935 until his death in 1960 as a laboratory for his work, a place for reading notes, landscapes, aphorisms, moral calculations and ideas for fiction. Among those jottings there is a striking entry where he imagines creating a character who would be both Hindu sage and western hero, a man who would possess eastern detachment and western action in the same life. He poses it not as exotic decoration but as a moral and dramatic problem. How would such a man live in a city struck by plague. How would he act without thirst for results. How would he preserve compassion without illusion. How would he avoid both cynicism and fanaticism. That entry belongs to the gestation period of La Peste and L'Homme revolte, precisely the period of Grenier's letter about the Swami. It shows that the synthesis of sage and hero was actively present in his imagination at the very moment when he learned that his teacher corresponded with a living sage who spoke his language.
That imagined figure later takes flesh as Jean Tarrou in La Peste, published in 1947. Tarrou is a man with notebooks of his own, a visitor who watches Oran with the attention of an anthropologist and a saint. He wants to be a saint without God, a phrase Camus uses first in his own notebooks and then gives to his character, a phrase that has puzzled readers for decades. Tarrou seeks a secular saintliness through absolute self discipline, vigilance and service. He combines the western hero who organises sanitary squads, who says no to plague, who acts in solidarity, with the eastern sage who understands that the essential work is upon the self, upon learning how not to be a plague carrier, upon dissolving ego and refusing to add to the world's evil. He dies, as a sage might, having learned his lesson. In L'Homme revolte, published in 1951, Camus argues for revolt that preserves limits, for revolt that refuses to become murderous revolution, for measure, for moderation, for mesura, a Mediterranean concept with deep affinities to the Gita's teaching of action without attachment to fruit, nishkama karma, and to the Vedantic critique of egoic inflation. The resonance is not proof of borrowing, but once we know that Vedanta was present in his immediate environment through a teacher who corresponded with a living monk of the Ramakrishna Vivekananda lineage, who spoke and wrote in French and lectured at Toulouse in 1942 in the very period when La Peste was being conceived, the resonance ceases to be coincidence and becomes history.
None of this makes Camus a Vedantin, and it would be historically irresponsible to claim that he became a disciple or that he borrowed directly from a specific Upanishad or verse of the Gita. The possibility cannot be excluded until the archives at Montpellier, Toulouse, the Centre at Gretz and the Grenier papers are fully explored. What the record does show is proximity, access and documented transmission, which in intellectual history is often more important than speculation about influence. Grenier knew Siddheswarananda. Grenier corresponded with him. Grenier called him a Sage, a rare category in his vocabulary, not a polite adjective but a judgement about a form of life. Grenier told Camus. Grenier told him in French, about a monk who spoke and wrote in French, at the moment when Camus was asking whether any wisdom could survive nihilism. And Camus, in his notebooks, began to imagine a character who would be both Hindu sage and western hero. That chain is modest and therefore strong.
The story therefore ends not with conversion but with a more subtle and more truthful conclusion that replaces speculation with evidence and that widens our understanding of Camus' Europe. Swami Siddheswarananda lived in France from 1937 until his death in 1957, teaching, writing, translating, answering letters, building a small but serious centre at Gretz that would become a permanent home for Vedanta in Europe and a place where French seekers could encounter Indian thought without leaving France. Jean Grenier continued to move between Greece and India and Taoism, between the Mediterranean and the inner island, and remained for Camus the measure of intellectual honesty, the man who had taught him to look at the sea and at death without lying. Camus continued to walk his own path between absurdity and revolt, between sun and plague, between Sisyphus and Nemesis, until his accidental death in 1960. What connects the three men is not a secret lineage but a documented chain of transmission. That chain does not make Camus a Vedantin. It proves that Vedanta stood considerably nearer to his philosophical world than conventional accounts of his exclusively European formation have acknowledged. For any serious study of Tarrou, of the ethics of revolt, of Camus and Indian thought, for any purposeful research on how a French Algerian moralist imagined saintliness without God, that proximity must now be part of the record. It also reminds us that the history of Indian thought in Europe was not only about books arriving from afar. It was also about a prince from Cochin who learned French and taught in French in occupied France, and about a philosophy teacher from Algiers who had the discernment to call him a sage and the generosity to tell his most famous pupil.
Prof Steven F Walker writes this :-
"Centre Védantique Ramakrichna) from 1947 until his death in 1957. The center is an hour’s train ride from Paris, and has long attracted spiritual seekers from all over Europe, not to mention a number of American devotees. The origins of the center may be traced back to the 1936 centenary celebration in France of the birth of Ramakrishna, which resulted in an accrued curiosity about Vedanta and thus in Belur Math’s decision to send Swami Siddheshwarananda to France. The interest generated by his discourses, including some at eminent French universities, eventually led to the foundation of the Gretz center in 1947.
Siddheshwarananda’s essay entitled “From anxiety to union, or, Ramakrishna’s spiritual experience” (“De l’angoisse à l’union, ou l’experience spirituelle de Rama-krishna1”) contains a number of interesting insights and observations, some of which seem to me to be startlingly original."
( Avtar Mota )